Sealing the Foundation of a Colonial Maine Homestead With Balsam Fir Bows

Sealing the Foundation of a Colonial Maine Homestead With Balsam Fir Bows

            This is an annual domestic activity.  It is not a task.

            “Really?”

            The lethargic of the seated homeowners and their passive

            Pathetic energies merge with their misappropriated sound stance that they;

            Doing nothing

            Therefore know what a task is and

            This (sealing the foundation of a colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows)

            Is one.

            “Really?”

            That’s done.  Or is it?

            No.  Restating:

            MOST PEOPLE... “need the exercise” (so spoken), avoid physical activities and title such actions as this (sealing the foundation of a Colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows) as ‘work’ “to be avoided”; this annual task (sealing the foundation of a Colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows).

            “Are we done with this now?”

            NO:  Your still just sitting there in front of the lost titled “boob tube”.

            I, in the Maine November air, am “out in the woods”  We have forty acres of “woods” (“forest land”).  I am looking, as annually, for Balsam Fir tree “blow downs”; large and larger trees that have recently “BLOWN DOWN”.  Preferably blown down since the first of the month (November).  There is always at least one.  And I find it.

            I want a dream tree; forty five feet tall once standing on a high rock ledge “overlooking” towards the sea.  A ‘been there for decades’ thick top bushy mess of dense packed wonderfully smelling long, long, long wind worn mashed thickness of tiptop leafage that came crashing down some windy night.  And nobody saw this.

            But I, hunting for it, find it in the November afternoon light and...

            “It’s mine”.

            I actually found two smaller (shorter) ones this fall.  That is not uncommon.  But... it means I have ‘enough’ ‘bows’ to do ‘everything’(seal the foundation of a Colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows).  “And more”

            “And more” includes covering small Rhododendrons from being eaten by the winter’s starving deer, covering the heather bed on their exposed rock ledge, covering the Pachysandra along the front door’s path and... making a wreath to hang on that front door.

All of this from blown down Balsam leafage ‘hauled’ from the forest?  Just giddy and dizzy I am from the pungent airs wrapping my clothing.  “Almost pitch covered” that smell.  “Isn’t that so?”.  So armed, literally, with the fragrance it becomes my seasonal utopia; my estuary of air chasing my every action.

            The action is the ‘work’ and ‘task’ I noted earlier.  Yes:  I smell like that from doing something and that something is hauling cart loads of thick Balsam Fir bows... for days.  Oh yes that IS a peril that wishes the holiday’s away?  Yes is it not:  To smell strongly of Balsam Fir for late November days... as I “work”.

            I have always been ‘the Balsam Fir’.  And never anything else including the “fake Christmas tree’.  A lot (all?) of ‘that stuff’ has come along in my lifetime.  I missed it; these innovative adoptions that wantonly foist the November / December holidays with “PINE BOWS” of the ‘all sorts’.  I have never bought a Christmas Tree.

            My parents did; along the roadside with the white light bulbs.  I remember that very clearly.  Always the same and always “a Balsam Fir”.  That last was ‘done’, not spoken of.  My father’s eye for a ‘good tree’ was savage.  No overruling or second suggestion was ever needed; Balsam Fir is New England Wasp.

            My family, in our Christmas Tree lifetime, cut ours ‘in the woods’.  No “this one no this one” stuff.  We cut a young Balsam Fir that just ‘touches’ the (1750) Colonial Maine homestead’s ceiling (82”) without considering the old “not level” floor of Colonial boards.  Our “tree” just goes “up”.  The real action is around the outside foundation line of the house.  We... “ho, ho, ho”, decorate that.  Carefully... but not obsessively.

            While somewhere along the way a wreath is made for the front door, the real outside Balsam Fir bows sleigh ride starts at the coldest corner; the northeast, and covers the whole homestead’s foundation line; the line where cut stone (field quarried granite) contacts the ‘old wood’ (sills) of the actual old wooden box of ‘house’.  “Around the house we go”... what?  We work in both direction from the corner to reach its far point sunny friend corner at the full opposite of the ‘cold corner’.  Carefully and considerately done this takes ‘days’ of ‘an hour or so here and there’.  Unless an early fall blizzard is coming “TONIGHT” there is “no hurry”.  Relax and enjoy this task... this work.  Have you seen what other people do with their time on earth?  One is much better off with ‘foundation level’ Balsam Fir bows.

            Originally I laid old rough cut pine boards against the foundation line and then buried those under Balsam bows.  The intention is to prepare the foundation line to ‘catch’ and ‘capture’ the snow.  This crusts and freezes in place so ‘seals’ the line “from the wind” (and cold).  Today... and the last decades... large sheets of plastic have appeared in neglect and ‘don’t want’ at household clean out sales.  These, acquired for ‘pittance’ I cut into four foot wide (sort of) strips and tack them with small shingle nails along the foundation line.  I then support these placements with scraps of pine poles and ... in actual fact... 1830’s handmade bricks “made right here” I was given when a neighbor took down an old chimney of an 1830 addition “butted onto his cape”.  They are my collection.  I show them around the foundation when they are not in actual use (for this annual foundation sealing).

            Just for the record I will notice that this ‘old handmade brick’ is “quite nice”.  Handling them each season increases ones sense of what an ‘old brick’ may be... could be... can be... and... can be a part of ones aesthetic AND Colonial New England aesthetic should one choose to include ‘old bricks’ in ones life... style.  They do not sell them at box stores and one... must keep the eye out if one becomes an ‘old brick hunter’.  They are around but are rare in piles. Most are found in small gathers and, of course, the “OH!” discovery of a  “very old” lone lost brick... one promptly purloins. That may make one giddy with delight.

            As the plastic with the pole pieces and brick are placed along the foundation, the Balsam bows follow behind being placed to fully cover this plastic shield.  The more and the thicker, denser the Balsam bows the more abundant the cover and... the more ‘full contact’ the bow man has with the stink and smell of these ...wonderful holiday wonders; the Balsam Fir bow. I find myself puttering and dawdling in the November sun with the bushy bundles.  I use a pitch fork to place the bows.  A pitchfork is my friend for it removes a lot of ‘bending over’.  Upright one always feels in command of the task... the work... in progress. 

Before I know it I am done;

Rounding the far corner

            In the sun.

            I stand back and admire the fair job; the horrid holiday task, now a ‘completed work’.  The task was a special moment of my ‘each fall’.

Thick and Shaggy

Thick and Shaggy

Between ... and about... November fourteenth and December fourth I have my annual active contact with Balsam Fur trees and their leafage.  This is the season slot when I employ, by harvest, their leafage for the winterization of our ...Maine (New England) Colonial era homestead.  I’ll get back to that in another post.

The do-course of that annual farm ritual includes a dumpage of a ...farm utility hand cart load... of the thickest Balsam Fur bows I “can get”... out in front of the barn’s doors...

So I may make our wreath

For our front door

Of our

Colonial era (1750’s) Maine (New England) homestead.

This is not a craft project.  This is not an art thought.  This is not a “What do you think?”

No.

When the right moment arrives... with I preferring the mid-afternoon time slot on Thanksgiving Day... because no one will bother me and... being in front of the barn doors that are “back from the road” the holiday drive-by “I SEE YOU” are too far off AND ‘on mission’ preoccupied to

“...Ahhhh...”

NONE THE LESS my exposed position IS factored in so I ...stick to task.  That’s where we first part company.  This is not a ‘start up’ event for I.  No.  I have been doing this for... I say... thirty-five to forty years... ‘here now’.  Yep.  And just this same every year.

I ‘fetch-off’ last years now browned but otherwise ‘whole’ wreath from under its ‘chucked there’ woodshed repose.  (I DO see it all year in this ritual storage.)  I carry the wreath in the cart to the front of the barn.  I get my nippers, scissors and “wreath wire” off of and out of the tool bench.  (I have never ‘bought’ any of these ‘tools’ because I ‘get’ them from ‘estate cleanouts’).  I stand before the open barn doors.  I am dressed in my go in the woods during ‘Deer Season’ full ‘safety orange’ battle gear.  I... START

By snipping off the dead dry old Balsam Fur bows with the scissors cutting the last years wire.  This dead waste falls off into the empty cart.  Next I snip up a bountiful pile of “THAT-OUGHT-tah do it!” fresh ‘thickest possible’ Balsam bows from the dumpage pile.  The ‘doing that’ smells great.

Once piled, I turn back to the old (thirty plus years of same yearly usage) wire wreath ring.  Additionally... I have preserved the old 1970’s cheesy and ratty red wreath bow that, once again, I notice the thick dust on its backside that I always look at and... never clean off.  (no one has ever noticed this dust safe)

No one knows that ...treasure... is there... ever... either.

Going hard tack (sailor’s term) around the wreath ring with fist full and hard handed gripped grabs of bows that are cinched wrapped by the wire from the wreath wire roll following these grabs right behind... I bind these bow grabs to the wire ring.  Again:  This is a vigorous and swift action... enhanced by being out in front of a Maine (old) barn door and having NO ONE else THERE.

Left alone at this creation procedure I quickly create a heavy (15 pounds) full

            THICK and SHAGGY

Christmas / Holidays wreath for our

Old Colonial era homestead’s front door.

I ‘balance’ the wreath by ‘trimming’ it  (“giving it a haircut”); very quickly hanging it “UP” on an old nail on the small barn door and “going at that”... and tying the old dust safe... safe harbor... bow on with its ‘I’ve done that for forty years’ twisted wire and

Stand back and snip a bit more and

On down to the house’s (“I HEARD IT GOING UP” – The Wife)

Front door

To be hung up’

On that..

Front door

“NOW”.

That is ‘making’ a

Real old Colonial Maine farm Balsam Fur wreath

Takes about an hour from bow pile at the barn door to front door

Of our home

Hung.

Using the Antique Garden Basket Properly For the Late Fall Harvests.

Using the Antique Garden Basket Properly For the Late Fall Harvests.

Properly using the (your)

Antique antebellum (pre 1860) handmade

Old New England ash splint wood

Garden basket

For the (your)

Late fall vegetable garden harvests.

This is a pleasant undertaking.

Take the old basket(s) from the 

(Old) (garden) shed(s).

Harvest a prescribed crop or

Engage in gleaning

On a mid November morning when one is

Attending to other putterings about the (your) garden

Plots.

The sun need not be out.

A flake of snow may be in the air.

An example of a seasonal Fall crop harvest is,

Of course,

The Brussel Sprouts; a last ‘row’ at waiting.

The fall frosts have cleaned up the Sprout’s neighborhood

At their garden plot.

“They aren’t any good until AFTER the FROST.”

Is their time honored harvest instruction.

We pick ours and head straight to the cast iron skillet with them

(The tiny ones especially)

They are ‘fried’ with three diced strips of the local bacon.

A ‘very simple’ of the mid fall season.

And only a short outing for the

Antique splint wood old New England garden basket.

By far more fun

For the old basket

Is when I take it gleaning

When I have ‘work along’ in a

Garden plot here and there.

Come with me my senior friend and have some

Bright crisp fall air

Upon your wooden weave.

Today I turn over (by hand with shovel) a tomato plot

In effort to expose the Tomato Caterpillar’s (Hornworm) winter roust

(Buried Cocoon)

So they may freeze to death.

Along the plot’s edge I turn up with my shovel lost onions that we grow

As a border edge.  The onion border was long ago harvested.  These are the hidden few escaping notice during harvest;

A gleaning.

My antique garden basket creeps along the plot’s edge with my shovel.

I toss the find into it’s

Demanding trove keep.

A little dirt.  A little dry

A crinkled skin.

A sprouting top.

Each brushes time aside for it;

(The old New England splint wood garden basket).

The basket lives its life again as it follows the shovel

Along the plot.

Is not that a pleasant

Way to be;

To properly use the (your) old New England splint wood

Garden basket?

Candle Nubs

Candle Nubs

After the wind blew and the trees fell down...

The “Power” was “Out”.

Electrical power was no longer available

Unless

“You” “Have a generator”;

A gasoline powered engine that “makes electricity”

Many have them

About us;

They started them promptly and continue to be “running” them as I...

This for you.

It is not cold.

It is not wet

It is seasonally (fall) damp

It is Halloween

But that was cancelled

“Because the power is out”.

“Some of them still don’t have power yet but ours came on

Last night” .

This is a coveted interlude that, this time...

Considering the scale of the “outage”, has failed to “recover”.

Buying more gas for the generator is.... very fashionable in certain circles

I notice.

The wiz bang lawn mower engine “purr” dominates the ‘new housing’ suburban lots of subdivisions to the Maine forest... with its sound and reasonable judgment that if one keeps the gas tank full, the throttle on full and the optimum usage... managed... one may...

“Make it through this”.

“Really”.

Quite brave of it I say.  It... is the their generator.

I’ve come away feeling better about my collection of candle nubs.  I have six now... since the ‘outage’ began.  I put them; the candle and then its nub, into “pierced tin lanterns” and... use them light when I need light... in the dark... which I don’t need very much anyway for I am adept at using “daylight”.

They were often... a long time ago... titled ‘Paul Revere Pierced Tin Lantern’.  I remember that... fifty years ago.  One was shown one of them and told that about the funny cylinder cone topped stab punch decorated tin candle lantern with its little tin socket at the center bottom inside its door that not only opened and closed but, too, “latched”.  Yes... I remember when these lanterns were shown by grandmothers to little boys who “wondered” what that is and then became obsessive about “light it” to “make it work”.

Soon I found out they were ‘antiques’ and that one may ‘buy and sell them’ as that and... That was it.  I began a long relation of that; buy and sell them.  I always had them around; a ‘buy and sell them’.  I did.  Sometime I’d have two.  Sometimes four.  Sometimes six.  The last group I had, a ‘two years ago’, was four.  I sold them to an antiques dealer who “Likes them” he said.  I haven’t had one since but... one or two will come along.  That doesn’t explain how I get the lantern candle nubs... if I do not have any old Paul Revere Pierced Tin Lanterns.

How do I?  Well... an odd thing has happened for me.  In the 1970’s New England historical organization... in their gift shops... offered for sale absolutely splendid hand made Pierced Tin (Candle) Lanterns.  Perfectly made of superior materials... including sheet copper... in various sizes and for various ...but always expensive... prices... these were not ‘give aways’ and... not bargains and not, well... sought by gift store browsers but fortunately for I... enough were purchased and homeward bound that today; ‘these days’, they have burped to a ‘resurface’ as abandoned property in ‘house clean-outs’.  And  these lanterns here found are, too, promptly stated to be “NOT OLD” (so not ‘antique’) too.  They are “not valuable”.

Again?

“They are not valuable”.

Really.  I find them at tag sales for two bucks.  Six dollars is gouging.  These, I state again, are brand new (never used) handmade Paul Revere Pierced Tin Lanterns.  They are identical and ‘if not’ superior to the classic ‘antique’ (1760 – and later) lanterns. That’s right and I use them.  I am using three of them right now “with the power off”.  That’s cute isn’t it.

Okay so if I go outside right now with the generator purr going in the dawn’s edge darkness do I

You

Tending your generator

To keep off the goblins of “Power Out”.

Yes... that’s it... right there:

No power is a goblin... in the dark.

One of the fascinations of the design form of the Paul Revere Pierced Tin Lantern is its beatific function.  The stab piercing are not decoration.  They are function, as is the whole form, including the cone top and the candle holder.  They were intentionally created to make that candle lantern function very... very well; to make it... purr.

I am not going to expostulate on the lantern’s farm home function for... once one does ‘use one’ on and about the old Maine farm... that for two hundred and fifty years, at least, did ‘not have (electrical) power’, one will discern the lantern’s superior functions

In its

Natural habitat.